


Ophiuchus

by Enchantable



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Adoption, Family Feels, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:34:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25142473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enchantable/pseuds/Enchantable
Summary: Walt never thought he would make a good father, Michael would disagree.New chapters are marked with a *
Relationships: Michael Guerin & Alex Manes, Michael Guerin & Walt Sanders, Michael Guerin/Alex Manes
Comments: 47
Kudos: 293
Collections: Something Cosmic





	1. Middle School and the Junk Yard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“You don’t have to call them,” Michael volunteers abruptly, “I didn’t mean to lie—“ he freezes as the sound of groaning metal echoes, “that’s not me!”_
> 
> _“Would you stop lying long enough to catch your breath? I know damn well it’s you,” Walt says, “why the hell else do you think we’re in a junkyard?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> S2 prompt if you ever feel so inspired: Michael Sanders AU. Walt spends the time between asking to adopt Michael and when Michael returns to Roswell getting his life cleaned up. Not being able to help Michael was the shake up he needed. When Michael returns to Roswell Walt is able to become a foster parent. Gruff!Dad Walt is able to eventually adopt Michael. Michael learns about his mom from Walt much earlier and when Caulfield comes around they are more prepared and get Nora out safely.

Michael’s perched on the bed and all Walt can think about is how he looks like a bird about to take flight.

He’s been told a messed up story about the kid and though he’s grateful for him to be out of those hell places, there’s a difference between knowing a thing’s going to be hard and having it sitting perched on a makeshift bed in a makeshift bedroom clocking the exits. Michael’s eyes are focused on him even before he knocks on the wall to ask for entry. Michael says nothing and Walt fights the urge to smack his head against the wall. He’s lost his damn mind doing this.

“You gonna let me come in or should I try again later?” He asks and Michael flinches.

“It’s your house,” he says.

“And it’s your room,” Walt reminds him. Michael looks down and mumbles something along the lines of thank you and it makes Walt want to build a time machine, go back and kick his own ass until he gets his shit together a lot sooner, “you don’t gotta thank me.”

“Sorry,” Michael mutters.

“You don’t gotta apologize either!” He winces at the own exasperation in his voice. This kid needs professional help and neither of them is in a position to do that. Michael seems to curl in on himself, his eyes squeezing shut and his fingers clenching on the bed sheet, “be careful of your—“

“I need to get some air,” Michael says and scrambles to his feet.

“Don’t—“

“Excuse me.”

Michael doesn’t make it an option as he barrels past him and scrambles out. Walt hears something thud and fights the urge to reach for the bottle. He can tell why someone would think the things that are in Michael’s too thick file. Demons are a easier sell pretty much anywhere that isn’t here. Walt scrubs his face and looks over at the shape watching from the couch. The damn dog is more judgmental than the people of the town but she helps.

“Well don’t get up and help or anything,” he says and goes after him.

Michael’s standing a few feet away breathing hard. Walt walks past him and looks at the other side of the car, the one that was facing the house. He sighs at the massive dent in it and looks back at Michael who looks like he’s going to be sick. At first Walt thinks it’s with fear, but then he doubles over and spews the contents of his stomach. No-one’s puked here since he went through withdrawal but he supposes that’s as good a run as he’ll ever get. He waits for Michael to be done and collect himself before he straightens up.

“Can you pop it back out?” He asks. Michael goes pale, “the dent, can you pop it back out?” He asks.

“I didn’t do that,” Michael blurts out.

“I’m not deaf,” Walt snaps, “or as stupid as your other fosters,” Michael looks stunned and it’s an odd look for such a young kid, “and I’m not going to hurt you.”

It’s clear Michael doesn’t believe him and Walt can’t say he blames him. The world’s a messed up place, he figures he knows that better than most people. He was probably younger than Michael when he learned it, but Walt’s not one to compare. No-one should be in that fucked up contest. Walt sighs and scrubs his face and pushes the itch for a bottle out of his head.

“I can help you fix the car,” Michael says abruptly, “I’m good with my hands.”

Briefly Walt wonders if the feeling of ‘this is never going to work’ is ever going to go away. Maybe it’s just part of being a parent. Walt remembers that he never wanted kids for a damn good reason. But one’s here and he’s gonna have to deal with it.

“Let’s go inside,” he says.

“You don’t have to call them,” Michael volunteers abruptly, “I didn’t mean to lie—“ he freezes as the sound of groaning metal echoes, “that’s not me!”

“Would you stop lying long enough to catch your breath? I know damn well it’s you,” Walt says, “why the hell else do you think we’re in a junkyard?”

Michael’s so surprised that whatever he’s doing cuts off and Walt hears something snap. He looks over to see one of the racks has cracked and watches one of the cars slide off and land on it’s roof. It looks almost comically like a bug that’s been turned over. Walt’s known for a long time he wasn’t cut out to be a parent to a regular kid. He’s got no idea what he’s going to do with a god damn alien. He figured this was a good place to start but he wasn’t expecting it to involve so many broken cars from the onset.

“How—“

“I knew your mother,” Walt says, figuring it’s best to rip the bandaids off in one go. Michael sways on his feet, “you gonna be sick again?”

Michael manages a nod before he hurls this time.

It might be the first honest thing he’s said.

Walt supposes it’s as good a start as any.

He steers the boy back inside and gets him into the chair. Nora hops off the couch and trots over, laying her head on his lap. Walt doesn’t have ginger ale but he’s got ginger beer which he guesses will have to do. He sets the can in front of Michael who looks ill at the sight of it.

“What do you need?” Walt asks.

“Acetone,” Michael says.

“You better not be killing yourself in this house,” Walt mutters, getting the bottle out, “what’s this do for you?”  
“It makes things hurt less,” Michael says.

“Don’t drink too much then,” Walt tells him. Michael takes a few mouthfuls under his watchful gaze and then sets the bottle down. Some of the color has returned to his face. Walt takes the acetone and reminds himself he’s gonna have to lock it up and hope the kid respects him enough to listen, “well you don’t look half dead.”

“Is my mom dead?” Michael asks abruptly. Walt winces at the swerve but Michael’s apparently not done, “when did you see her? Do I look like her? Did she talk about me? Who was she with? Was my dad there? Could she move things with her mind too or did she read thoughts or channel electricity?”

He cuts himself off breathing hard. It’s the most desperate Walt’s seen the kid since he’s been back. He’s got no business dealing with a desperate kid like this. He can picture his own old man’s reaction. Michael keeps look at him like a starving man and Walt has to remind himself he’s a kid who just found out someone knew his mother.

“I don’t know is the answer to most of that,” Walt says, “I saw her when I was about your age. She wasn’t the worst last thing to see with two eyes,” Michael looks surprised, “she mentioned you. Said you had her whole heart. You do look damn like her,” he leans back, “she said her name was Nora.”

“Did she say what my name was?” Michael asks. Walt shakes his head and Michael looks down, disappointed.

“Michael’s a good name,” he says.

“What about her powers? What could she do?”

“Well I saw her make fields grow,” Walt says. Michael perks up, “and some other things but that was the most impressive,” he looks at the boy, “can you do that?”

“Kinda,” Michael says, “I’m not good at it though, I usually make the planters explode.”

Walt blows out a breath and tries not to think about how this is going south faster than he could have thought.

But they’re here and they’re just going to have to deal with it.


	2. Middle School and the Birthday Trip*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“My species matures faster,” Michael says._
> 
> _“I didn’t realize you were such an expert,” he says._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love your Walt adopts Michael fic!! Any chance we might see more of it beyond the 2nd chapter? Maybe some more if the early days where Michael is learning to trust Walt? 

The silence is so thick Walt thinks he can hear his own hair grow.

“Well what’d you do before?” He asks, “when you went to those other schools?”

Michael looks down and pushes around his cereal. Walt gets the feeling that he isn’t going to like the answer. Not that he has a whole lot of faith in the system, but Michael seems determined to show him how god awful it really is. The kid has medical records, he’s seen them. But he doesn’t believe for a second they’re accurate.

“Sometimes my foster’s would forge them,” he says, “I’d usually just piss the doctor off enough that they’d sign them so I would go away,” he shrugs, “or I’d forge them.”

“You’re forging documents?” Walt repeats incredulously.

Michael bristles and puffs up. Walt takes another drink of his coffee. Dealing with an alien is hard, dealing with an orphan is hard. Dealing with Michael’s prepubescent hormones makes him want to throw himself out of the window. Walt doesn’t think he could have gotten him at a worse time if he’d actively been trying for it. He can’t quite figure out if there’s a specific thing that sets him off or if it’s just everything. It seems to be the later.

“My species matures faster,” Michael says.

“I didn’t realize you were such an expert,” he says.

Michael’s glare almost makes him regret saying it. But he’s done stupider things to scarier people. Michael might be telekinetic and he may owe the boy something he can never repay, but Michael’s still a punk kid. Walt’s read enough parenting books to know you can’t just give kids whatever they want. You gotta discipline them. But not like the disciplining his old man used to do. Walt refuses to be that kind of person. The disciplining was kind where you said you were disappointed in them and they shaped up because that was supposed to be worse than being mad. Walt doesn’t believe it works on anything except tv but he’s got a preteen alien sitting at his kitchen counter so he’s going to try.

“So you’ve never been to a doctor?” He says. Michael shakes his head, “dentist? Any medical professional?”

“Of course not, I’d be in a lab somewhere if I did.”

“How do you know that?”

Michael stares at him. Walt knows he’s full of shit, that he’s the farthest thing from an expert on aliens despite being one. The old guilt churns through him. He got time with Miss Nora, time that Michael needed more than him. He ran away as a kid but he was able to find out about his own body. What he could and couldn’t do. Aside from being able to move things with his mind, he’s not sure Michael knows anything. Michael pushes his cereal around as Walt waits for his answer.

“May I be excused?” Michael asks in a weird impression of an obedient child. Walt chokes on his coffee.

“What? No,” he sputters, “where’d you learn manners?”

“Two families ago,” Michael says. Fucking smartass.

“And how do you know you can’t go to the doctor?” Walt asks.

Michael says nothing.

Walt can see where this is going a mile away. More than a mile if he’s being honest. He doesn’t need two eyes to see that Michael looks like a scared kid with a secret. God knows he used to see the look on his own face enough to recognize it, even if it’s been a damn long time since he saw it. Dropping it isn’t going to help either, he’s a bad sell on a good day in the parenthood department. He’s surprised he got approved at all after the way the social worker looked at the junkyard.

“Did one of the others tell you that?” He ventures.

Michael freezes and the look on his face shifts to horror. How the hell this kid is going to keep being an alien a secret is beyond Walt. They’re going to need a lot of rules. He’d say that he’s surprised Michael has kept it a secret this long, but the exorcism would say otherwise. Before Michael can sputter another lie or choke on his cereal or something, Walt decides to put him out of his misery.

“Your mom led me to the eggs,” he says, “I know there were three of you.”

“We were found by the side of the road,” Michael says, shifting from horrified to angry.

“I was younger than you when I found the eggs,” Walt says, “you ready to take care of three kids?”

Michael has the grace to look down, shake his head and mutter an apology. It doesn’t make Walt feel much better but right now he’s the adult. He doesn’t need anyone to hold his hand of absolve him of his sins. Especially not when it comes to the aliens. Michael shifts his weight and licks his bottom lip before looking up at him carefully. Walt can’t imagine the war going on in Michael’s head. Or, actually, he can. He doesn’t know where he comes out in all of this or why the hell Michael should trust him.

“Max can heal,” he says, “humans and us. He knows we’re different.”

Walt nods, he guesses it was too much to hope that something in this would be easy. He sighs and picks up the paper. The idea of Michael having to forge documents is not one he wants to entertain. He almost signs the damn thing himself. But Michael is a kid, if for some reason they get caught he can blame any number of things. If Walt gets caught, Michael goes to someone else. When he looks up at Michael, the boy is watching him intently. Walt slides the paper over to him. Michael goes for it eagerly and Walt puts his hand over it.

“You tell me when you do this kind of thing,” he says, “you shouldn’t be doing it at all but we don’t have a choice. The way I see it, here’s the safest place for you right now. But there’s gonna be a lot of lying involved so we gotta be honest with each other. Think you can do that?”

“Yeah,” Michael says and Walt believes him. He watches as Michael hunches over and gets to work, “I gotta do this for Max and Iz too,” he says and glances upwards.

Belatedly Walt realizes he’s asking for permission.

“Whatever you gotta do,” he says.

A few days later when Michael asks to go on a camping trip with them, Walt agrees and ignores the stupid feeling in his gut. He makes sure Michael has the phone number to the cell he’s got on him, then he makes sure he can recite it from memory. It’s just supposed to be one night and Walt tells himself that they are human enough that nothing terrible is going to happen. But when the damn phone shows a number he doesn’t recognize, he realizes how stupid the reassurances have been.

“You okay?” He asks instantly. There’s silence, in the background he thinks he can hear someone crying, “Michael,” he says, “remember what we talked about?”

“I need you to come pick us up,” Michael says finally, “I—“ he hesitates.

“Am sorry to wake me up?” Walt says, already pulling on his boots, “don’t worry about it.”

“Thanks,” Michael says.

He gives where they are and Walt hauls ass to the location. Michael is standing near the road looking anxiously out. A ways back Walt can see Max and Isobel huddled together. It’s odd to see them all together. He hasn’t since the group home. Michael is skittish but stubborn as he gets out. Walt looks him up and down.

“You hurt?” Michael shakes his head and Walt exhales, “you need my help?”

“We took care of it,” Michael says, “we just need a ride,” he licks his bottom lip, “please.”

Walt wants to demand answers to what it is and what they took care of, but he can see the desperation on Michael’s face. It’s almost as heartbreaking as him asking for help with a please or the look on the twins behind him. Walt reasons that what was done here is done, there’s no fixing it. So he motions them into the car. The three of them nearly collapse with relief and Walt wonders if this is the first time that they’ve gotten help from an adult. He helps them pile their stuff into his truck and watches as Max helps Isobel in and scrambles after her.

“Are they hurt?” He asks Michael when they close the door.

“Not physically,” Michael says.

“I guess that’s the important part right now,” Walt says, “get in.”

Michael scrambles in and he gets in after him. No-one speaks, the only sound is Isobel’s heavy breathing which echoes loudly in the car. Michael reaches over and turns on the radio, finding something that covers up the sound. Walt watches the three of them move seamlessly, taking care of one another in little ways that seem almost instinctual. Hell, maybe they are. What the hell does he know about families and how they take care of each other? No-one says anything as they drive. Walt gets off the main way and drives to a quieter place and pulls over, killing the engine.

“I know you all want to go home,” he says, “but your parents are going to want to know why.”

“Don’t you?” Max asks. There’s a quiet authority in his voice that’s damn unnerving.

“Course I do,” Walt says, “but I want you all safe more than that.”

“I killed someone.”

Walt whips around. Max meets his eyes but there’s no defiance in his. It’s that same authority. He killed someone and he knows why he did it. That’s damn powerful stuff. Walt feels sick at the sight of it. That’s not an expression anyone should wear, but especially not a kid. Isobel lets out a shuddering breath that gives away exactly why Max feels so justified. He’s almost afraid to look at Michael but he forces himself to do it anyway. Michael’s head hangs and the guilt rolls off him in almost palpable waves. When he raises his eyes to Walt’s, they’re bright. But he swallows and forces the emotions back.

“I buried him,” Michael says.

Walt hates the relief he feels.

“Deep?” He asks, “shallow graves—“

“He’s buried deeply,” Michael cuts in.

Walt almost tells him to not interrupt and then stops. That isn’t something important right now. He looks between the three of them and sighs. It’s not important but he’s getting the feeling that this is their life. He’d better get used to it.

“Don’t interrupt,” Walt says. Michael raises his eyebrows, “I’m not putting your manners on hold until weird shit stops happening, I’ll be old and grey if we wait that long.”

“You’re already grey,” Michael points out.

“Grey-er,” Walt corrects, “the way I see it I can take you all home or I can take you all nearby and give you a night to sort out your feelings. It’s not a lot but—“

“Nearby,” Isobel croaks.

Both the boys nod and the decision is made. Walt puts the car in gear and takes them nearby where he found them. When he goes to get their tent and gear out, none of them look thrilled at the prospect. He doesn’t blame them.

“Get your sleeping bags out,” he says, “you can camp out in the back,” Max and Isobel trade looks.

“What?” Michael says, “he knows what we are, I don’t think Max wetting the bed is gonna upset him.”

Max lets out an indignant squawk and suddenly they’re teenagers again. Or two of them are. Isobel still smiles though which is a lot better than the look she was wearing a few minutes ago. The three of them clamber into the back. It’s not the first night that Walt’s spent in his car, but it definitely wasn’t on his plans for the night. Still it’s kind of nice to hear the three of them talking in the back of the truck. The world’s going to be a mess in the daylight, but he hopes that one night of feeling safe will mean something. Somehow. He closes his eyes and opens them and it’s somehow daylight and the three of them are standing there.

“Here,” Michael says, handing him a paper cup of coffee.

“Thanks,” he takes it, looks at the time and swears, “lets get you back before your parents freak out,” they all climb in, “happy birthday,” he adds.

He drops them off and drives him and Michael home.

“Come here,” he says before Michael can get in the house. He leads him to another part of the junkyard and opens up the hatch, “I found this when I bought the place,” he says. Michael looks nervous and Walt rolls his eyes, “you think if I wanted to hurt you I wouldn’t have done it last night?”

That makes sense to Michael and he shrugs, following Walt down the ladder. Walt’s done his best to clean out the dust and get some damn lights going, but it hasn’t been the easiest job to finish Michael’s back. He supposes that the work’ll go faster if it’s the two of them. Michael looks around the space slowly, taking in the white board and couch Walt has down there.

“I figured you might need your own space, when things get crazy. Or you need to do your alien thing,” Walt says, “it’s deep enough you shouldn’t disturb anything up there.”

“This is mine?” Michael repeats.

“I know it’s not much but I figured—“

He’s not expecting Michael to throw himself at him or squeeze the daylights out of him. It’s an objectively awful hug. Awful enough to make Walt’s good eye tear up and his throat tighten. But only because it’s a damn shame no-one taught the boy to hug properly, not because the kid’s hugging him at all. He claps him back on the shoulder which is what you’re supposed to do. He thinks. Hell do either of them have any business hugging?

“Happy Birthday,” he says.

“Thank you.”


	3. High School and The Principal’s Office

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“You don’t think it’s wrong Alex likes boys?” Michael asks quietly. Walt cringes and Michael’s face falls, “got it.”_
> 
> _“No, you don’t,” Walt says, “I don’t care who you like, I just don’t want to be called into school for you pulling anyone into the bleachers or wherever you kids are making out these days. We have your hearing in a few weeks and we’re on thin ice with the noise complaints as it is.”_

“This is ridiculous.”

Walt keeps his mouth shut as Jesse Manes checks his watch again. He guesses it was inevitable that the two would go at it eventually. He just prays to every God he knows that Michael didn’t do any of that alien shit. It’s going to be hard enough to explain this to the social worker as it is.

“Have we been called in yet?” Jim Valenti asks as he joins them.

“No,” Jesse says.

Jim nods.

Walt wonders what the hell he’s doing sitting with two people who represent the government. He’s been in trouble with the law enough to not want to be here. He’s also been in trouble enough in his school days to not want to be in there either. But he’ll take the slap on the wrist over the cuffs. When they are motioned in he’s the first up. Michael twists the second he walks in and gives him the barest head-shake. Walt lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. No alien shit then.

“What happened?” He asks.

“Your foster son fought with one student and attacked another,” the principal says.

“Why?”

Michael doesn’t answer.

“I told you—“ Kyle Valenti starts up in a tone that makes Walt want to plug his ears.

“The question wasn’t directed at you,” the principal cuts in, “Mr. Guerin, would you care to explain?”

Michael flinches like he’s the one whose been hit and Walt wishes things were different but he can’t be Michael Sanders if the paperwork doesn’t go through. Kyle looks smug. Alex whose been silent the whole time shifts in his seat. The look his father gives him is eerily familiar to Walt, the urge to grab Michael and get the hell out of there is a strong one. Alex wavers and then looks at the principal.

“His name’s Sanders,” Alex Manes pipes up.

“Not yet,” Kyle says.

“I started the fight,” Alex continues, “I was teasing him because he doesn’t have parents. Kyle got involved because he can’t keep his mouth shut.”

“No, I got involved because I don’t want to be in the locker room with someone who likes boys.”

The air vanishes.

Walt’s surprised to see Michael look equal parts devastated and furious. Alex looks angry as well, but anyone can see how hard his father is gripping his shoulder. It’s only Jim Valenti who looks ashamed.

“So it’s Kyle’s fault,” he says.

“Huh?” Kyle whips around.

“It’s his fault, clearly. You going to suspend him?” The principal looks surprised, “I think being off the team for the rest of the year sounds appropriate too.”

“Dad!”

The principal nods slowly. Jim hauls his devastated looking boy out. Alex lets out a sharp breath that Walt might mistake for relief until he sees Jesse’s hand hasn’t moved. Michael has seen it too and though Walt wants to tell him to mind his own business he knows that’s not what’s about to happen.

“I think that’s a fair resolution,” he says and sticks his hand out to Jesse in a sign of friendship. The main claims to be full of honor but it takes him a moment to pry his fingers off, “you boys want to apologize to each other?”

They both mutter sorry and Alex seems hard pressed not to rub his shoulder.

They’re all sent home. In the front seat Michael looks straight ahead. Walt gives him a moment, then a few more. When it’s clear he’s not going to be speaking up, he finally looses whatever patience he has left.

“I’m waiting for a explanation,” he says.

“His family killed my mom,” Michael snaps.

“We don’t know that!” Walt shoots back, “do you think she wants you getting yourself locked up or worse?” Michael looks down, “that wasn’t a rhetorical question!”

“No,” Michael says finally.

“How did Valenti get involved?”

“I was fighting Alex and he tried to back me up. He said because Alex likes boys.”

Walt would normally say that you need backup in life, that Michael shouldn’t let his stubbornness get in the way of that. But he can see how this doesn’t fall under that. He doesn’t like the Manes family on principal, not after the shit they’ve done, but even he’s not stubborn enough to see that Alex is like them. He might one day be, but right now he’s the same kind of prepubescent nightmare Michael is. Walt wonders if that’s a nightmare across all universes or if being in earth has just made things like that for Michael.

“It sounds like you did the right thing,” Walt says, finally catching onto Michael hanging on his every breath.

“You don’t think it’s wrong Alex likes boys?” Michael asks quietly. Walt cringes and Michael’s face falls, “got it.”

“No, you don’t,” Walt says, “I don’t care who you like, I just don’t want to be called into school for you pulling anyone into the bleachers or wherever you kids are making out these days. We have your hearing in a few weeks and we’re on thin ice with the noise complaints as it is.”

It’s nauseating how fast Michael whips to look at him. And how quickly he dives forward to hug him. Walt claps his shoulder as Michael jumps back into his seat. Sure maybe he never counted on raising a kid liking other boys, but he didn’t count on a kid period. And in the face of being an alien, well, Walt’s seen what Max is doing with his blackouts. Michael’s in trouble no matter who he wants to make out with. At least Walt can console himself there’s no risk of a cross species baby. He’s not sure he’s ready to add being a grandpa to his list of jobs.

“How long’ve you known?” Walt asks.

“Always I guess,” Michael says, “it’s like being a—“

“Not on school property,” Walt cuts in sharply.

That’s the last thing they needed added to this mess. How once again this involves the Manes family is beyond Walt. Alex seems like a nice enough kid, but being nice didn’t save Tripp or Miss Nora and it sure as hell isn’t going to save Michael. Not that Walt has any intention of Michael needing saving from the Manes family. Not because Alex likes boys and definitely not because Michael is an alien. There isn’t going to be any of that cosmic star crossed nonsense here. What happened between Miss Nora and the Manes family is best left in the past. But the Manes overhearing Michael is an alien or anyone overhearing it would be bad. Actually there’s only one thing that could make it worse.

Thankfully he and the Manes boy hate each other.


	4. High School and the Shed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“well does Romeo or Juliet want to answer me?”_
> 
> _“I didn’t want my father finding out,” Alex says. He looks at Michael’s hand, “I told him not to tell you.”_

Michael staggers in and Walt sighs deeply.

He’s done his best to keep liquor out of the house, for one he’s not strong enough to deal with that and two Michael’s got enough reason to drink. He doesn’t need to throw temptation in his face. Michael’s grown up into a good man, a man Walt’s damn proud of. He hasn’t done any of the stupid shit the other seniors are doing. Walt knows he’s a good man, he also knows how one drunken night can lead to a lifetime of regrets.

“You know I’ve got half a mind to keep you from that and let you feel the hangover,” he says finding Michael fumbling with the medicine cabinet.

“M’not drunk,” Michael slurs out.

“Sure you’re not,” Walt says sarcastically, “come on,” he says, “let me—“

“No!” Michael gasps and Walt suddenly finds he can’t move. Michael doubles over with a sound that goes straight through him, “just gimme a minute.”

“Okay, okay,” Walt says, “take your time. Breathe.”

Michael sucks in air and sobs on the exhale. Something in Walt aches to comfort him but he’s being held back. It’s been a damn long time since Michael lost control of his powers like this. Walt waits and after a long time he finds he can move. He forces himself to approach carefully, though he doesn’t think Michael will hurt him. He just doesn’t want him to stop him either. He crouches down on Michael’s level where he can see he’s shining with sweat, snot and tears. Like the first night he came. Walt doesn’t ask anything stupid like what’s wrong, he can see the way Michael’s got his hand clenched to his chest.

“Jesus,” he says and Michael pulls it closer with a whimper, “easy, easy,” Walt says. Comforting hasn’t ever been his forte. He settles his hand on Michael’s shoulder and eases him down to sit on the floor. He crouches in front of him, “let me see,” Michael shakes his head, “come on, give it here.”

Michael sobs as he supports his hand and eases it away from his chest. Walt pulls back the makeshift bandage. His hand is a mess of torn and twisted skin and misshapen bones. It looks bad. Walt can’t imagine how it must feel. Michael hasn’t offered any bullshit like it’s an accident. So Walt has nothing to go on but that it isn’t.

“We need to call your brother,” he says.

“No,” Michael tells him.

“Why the hell not?” Walt questions.

“This can’t just vanish,” he says, dragging in a lungful of air, “they’ll know.”

“I don’t give a damn—“

“Jesse Manes did it,” Michael says and Walt finds he can’t breathe, “he did it because I got between him and Alex.”

“Why would you do a stupid thing like that?” Walt demands, “Manes boys are trouble, you know that. I thought you and Alex hated each other.”

Michael’s throat bobs.

There’s a frantic knock on the door. Michael tries to push himself up so fast he nearly falls over. Walt stops him from trying to scramble up and helps him brace his hand on his other one. He gets to his feet and gives Michael a warning look before he goes to the door. For a moment he lets himself be stupid and say that it’s going to be Max here or Isobel, someone who can actually help. But the stupidity only lasts as long as it takes him to look through the peephole.

“What do you want?” He questions sharply.

Despite having been frantically knocking on his door a moment earlier, Alex jumps. Walt can’t say he likes Alex, the boy seems to put sticking out like a sore thumb above everything else. Like survival. But he can’t say he hates him either and there are definitely teenagers he hates. Alex sneaking around with his son though, that’s a big mark against him. The worry on his face lessens that mark only slightly.

“Sorry to bother you so late, is Michael home?”

“He’s home alright, you wanna tell me what happened to his hand before I press charges?”

Alex pales but his jaw clenches and he meets Walt’s eye. Which is more than Walt would’ve expected from the boy whose been sneaking around with his son.

“I can tell you but pressing charges isn’t going to do any good,” Alex says, “Sheriff Valenti won’t do it.”

“He will if he knows what’s good for him,” Walt snaps.

“He doesn’t,” Alex replies. He looks anxiously over Walt’s shoulder and even under the mess on his face, he fucking lights up.

“I told you to stay put,” Walt says, turning around to see Michael leaning against the wall. He looks back at Alex who looks maybe five seconds from charging through his front door if he doesn’t move aside, “oh now you two don’t want to sneak around?” He looks between the two of them, “well does Romeo or Juliet want to answer me?”

“I didn’t want my father finding out,” Alex says. He looks at Michael’s hand, “I told him not to tell you.”

“Jesus,” Walt repeats.

He’s not a praying man but he’s going to need all the strength he can get if these two are planning on continuously sacrificing themselves for each other. One of them is going to do something stupid if he doesn’t move and he’d rather not deal with the telekinesis part of that. So he steps aside and nods Alex in. Alex scrambles forward so fast they nearly add another injury to the growing tally. Michael sinks down with a pained sound as Alex falls to his knees, his hands fluttering over Michael like he doesn’t know where to touch him. Michael tries to smile up at him but winds up folding over his hand. Alex pulls him close and even though it’s his own damn house, Walt turns away to give them a moment.

Thankfully he hears the car.

He shuts the door.

“You boys better get upstairs,” he says, “I think your dad’s here.” It’s hard to say who goes paler, “upstairs,” he repeats.

“I should—“ Alex starts.

“I wasn’t asking,” Walt says, “be glad I’m letting in you in his room at all after this,” he adds, helping get Michael to his feet, “and keep the door open.”

He takes the eye patch off. When he opens the door and Jesse goes a shade paler at the sight of that mess, he’s glad he did. It takes him a moment to recover and Walt wonders if he knows how involved his family is. He supposes that’s a question for another day.  
“Is my son here?” Jesse asks.

“Why would your son be here?” Walt counters, “did something happen?”

Jesse’s got some major balls on him to stand there.

“My son is involved with your—“ he begins

“Let me help you out, my son,” Walt says. Jesse presses his lips together, “don’t tell me you have as big a problem with adoption as you do with your son liking boys,” he says.

“You’re noble looking after him,” Jesse says.

“I’m not,” Walt shoots back, “I’m keeping a promise to a friend,” Jesse’s eyes narrow. Walt figures if he’s in for a penny, he’s in for a pound, “you’re damn lucky my boy’s a better man than the ones they produce here.”

“I’d watch your tone,” Jesse starts.

“I’d get the hell off my property,” Walt says.

Jesse holds his gaze for a moment longer but Walt’s faced down worse than some insane army man on a power trip. He’s sure as hell not folding. Not once Michael’s been hurt. Jesse at least seems to have enough sense to know Walt’s insane enough to take him on. Hell Walt’ll be insane if that’s what it takes. Jesse glances up and Walt ignores it. Michael’s barely standing and he sure as hell ain’t stupid enough to be by the window.

“If he comes by tell him I’m looking for him.”

“Do I look like a damn answering machine?”

It’s not easy to turn his back on a man he knows would shoot him, but for Michael he does and gets back into the house, making sure to slam the door behind him. He can’t tell if his heart is racing because of that, because Michael is hurt or because Michael’s got the boy he’s been sneaking around with in his room. He figures one thing at a time and goes for the first aide kit. Only to find it’s gone.

The door’s not closed all the way—because Michael has yet to meet a rule he doesn’t like to skirt. But it’s closed enough that he can peer inside quietly. Alex is splinting Michael’s hand. Michael barley lets him see him cry but both of them are snot nosed and teary, though Alex seems to have his wits about him. It’s not the worst splinting Walt’s ever seen. It’s on his lips to announce that Alex is sleeping in there over his dead body, but Michael’s laying his head on Alex’s lap and Alex’s fingers are moving through his curls.

He’s sleeping there for one night and one night only.


	5. College and Alex Shipping Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Apparently my son was an idiot last night and punched out Wyatt Long’s tires,” Alex’s face falls and Walt realizes he’s not the only one disappointed in Michael’s behavior_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Michael Sanders prompt: could you do a follow up where Walt makes Michael go to college? 

Walt isn’t surprised to see Alex waiting there alone.

Alex looks heartbreakingly young but still every bit the stubborn punk whose defied his father enough times to be sent away. Walt wishes he could say he’s disappointed Jesse isn’t here to see his son off, but he expected that from him. No, Walt realizes the person he’s disappointed in his own son. Which he’s planning on dealing with in due time. But first things first. He puts the truck in park and tries not to watch hope and then disappointment fall over Alex’s features.

“Don’t look too disappointed.”

“Mr. Sanders,” he says respectfully, “I’m sorry I thought—“ he stops and Walt remembers that the military is about as understanding as Alex’s father, “Sorry.”

“You don’t gotta apologize, I saw you waiting here, figured you might want the company.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Alex says.

“It’s nothing. Apparently my son was an idiot last night and punched out Wyatt Long’s tires,” Alex’s face falls and Walt realizes he’s not the only one disappointed in Michael’s behavior, “I gotta go knock some sense into him.”

Alex pales and Walt realizes his mistake instantly. He’s never raised a hand to Michael in his life and he sure as hell isn’t about to start, but it’s a sore subject. Especially for someone like Alex. He looks like the kid in the principals office. It breaks Walt’s heart to see him looking like that.

“Shit I didn’t—“

“I know you wouldn’t,” Alex says. Walt nods, “I have to go,” he adds abruptly, “this is my chance, you know? I don’t want to but—“

“I know,” Walt cuts in, “you should take your chance,” he adds, “It doesn’t mean anything about that,” he adds, “you’re both young anyway, you got lives to live and shit to figure out.”

“I don’t need to figure that out,” Alex says.

Walt hates it when he’s proved so epically wrong about something. He’s always tried not to judge Alex but he’s never been the boy’s biggest fan. He remembers his family too well for that. But he’s going to have to make an exception. He hasn’t had this big of an “I told you so” since he put down the bottle all those years ago. Right down to the headache.

“You know he’s doing this so he doesn’t have to say goodbye,” Walt says. Alex nods, “doesn’t mean you have to forgive him right now, he should be here, but in his own way he’s trying to say how much he cares.”

“He’s also saying how hurt he is,” Alex adds. He straightens up more if possible and turns to him, “you know he’s spiraling right? You can stop him can’t you? I tried but—he won’t listen to me.”

Walt doesn’t think there’s anyone on either planet that can make Michael do what he wants but that sure as hell isn’t going to stop him from trying. But Alex’s worrying is another point in his favor, not that he needs more of them. Walt’s got no frame of reference here, is he supposed to approve of the boys Michael brings home? Is that even a thing? He digs into his pocket and pulls out one of those business cards Michael made up to help compensate for his people skills. He scribbles the number on the back and hands it to him.

“I’ll deal with my boy, but if you need anything that’s my cell. Damn social worker said parents needed to have one and I never bothered to shut it off.”

Alex looks stunned but nods, quickly putting the card in his wallet. They both turn to look at the bus that pulls up. Walt wants to tell them to fuck off but he remembers Michael’s drying out in a cell, if he shows up they’ve got bigger problems. Alex gets up. Walt wishes he had something wise to say but he’s never been that kind of guy.

“He’d want you right now,” he says, “but no boy of mine is being with someone who hasn’t graduated college or proved himself in some other impressive way so I’m convinced to approve when he asks in person—so you’d better go make something of yourself and come back here, you hear? It doesn’t count if you die.”

“Yes Mr. Sanders,” he says, “can you tell Michael I said goodbye?”

He nods.

Alex gets on the bus.

He looks for Michael the entire way until it’s a speck in the distance, never once giving up hope.

Walt drives to the police station. If he wasn’t mad before, he’s damn near livid when he forks over bail and is presented with his son. Michael stinks of alcohol and acetone, like he got drunk in a beauty parlor. He stumbles out with a stupid grin that falls the moment he sees it’s not his brother. Max feels guilty still about them being separated, Walt can’t hold that against him. But when Michael gets ugly mad that doesn’t stop him from using it. Walt’s got no such leverage over his head.

“I thought you were Max,” he says.

“Well I was in the neighborhood seeing Alex off, so I guess we’re all having a shit disappointing morning,” he says, “get in.”

Michael clenches his jaw. Walt doesn’t blame him for wanting to say no, but he’s also not doing this. Michael stares him down for a moment, then he wisely gets in the car. Walt slides in too. Michael reeks worse in the closed space. Walt’s never had to wonder how much it takes to get an alien drunk, Michael isn’t that kind of kid. But the answer is apparently ‘a lot’. He looks ahead as Michael slouches in his seat, like he’s on a quest to annoy him as much as possible.

“I want to know what happened.”

“Alex left—“

“Bullshit,” Walt cuts in, “you think I was born yesterday because you managed to hide some boy behind my back for a few months?” Michael looks down, “what happened?”

“I can’t tell you,” Michael says finally.

Apparently Alex isn’t the only one whose trying to look young. It’s like looking at Michael when he first came to him. He was all broken edges then. Now he just seems broken. It’s not something Walt wants to see. He’s never been the best parent but at the moment he feels like a failure. A part of him wants to let Michael have this, but the rest of him refuse. Letting Michael go or have his secrets has never served Michael well.

“You got words don’t you?” Walt says, “or should I call Isobel?” Michael’s jaw clenches, “okay so this involves her. You want to spit it out or should I keep playing 20 questions.”

“I’m not a kid anymore,” Michael says stubbornly.

“Then stop acting like one,” Walt shoots back, “you’re a man. A man takes responsibility for his actions,” Michael’s jaw clenches, “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s going on—and don’t tell me you don’t want my help. I’m your father. You being an adult isn’t going to change that.”

Michael stares ahead but the stubborn clench of his jaw softens and his straight spine slopes slightly. Michael’s always worn his heart on his sleeve. Walt can see him starting to crack, even if a moment later he’s back to sitting up straight with a clenched jaw. Walt knows he’s not gonna be able to just pry what happened out of Michael. But he can’t exactly let him just take his sweet time if he’s in real trouble. Not after letting him take his sweet time resulted in him being maimed. He figures lightening the mood will maybe get him to let his guard down.

“Come on, it’s not like you murdered someone.”

Michael folds.

The boy doesn’t have much of a poker face when it comes down to it. Not with people he loves. Walt stares at him. He may not have fully succeeded in raising Michael to be an outstanding member of society but he sure as hell thought he got him over the ‘don’t murder’ part of that curve. Walt’s spent the past decade evading the law on one level or another, depending on how you looked at it. But Michael murdering someone is a whole different story.

“Shit,” He says.

“Yeah,” Michael agrees. He glances at Walt out of the corner of his eye, “I guess I should—“

“Just wait a damn minute,” Walt snaps as he reaches for the door, “let me think.”

“You’re not going to turn me in?” Michael asks.

“Just wait,” Walt repeats.

This isn’t something he thought he’d have to weigh. He almost feels sympathetic to Jim Valenti, though nothing Kyle did in their school days comes close to full on murder. Still Jim was stern but he stood by him. Walt didn’t think he was going to have to feel sympathy for what happened there.

“Walk me through what happened,” he says. Michael stares at him, “everything. Every damn detail,” Michael looks at him, “Now, Michael.”

“It was Isobel,” he whispers.

Walt’s glad he’s sitting down because otherwise he’d be on his ass with relief. It’s a horrible thing to feel, someone got murdered and Michael was somehow involved. But finding out your son isn’t a murder is relieving. And makes a lot of sense. Michael would trust him with everything except his siblings. Walt knows that there’s a difference and he’s always done his best to respect that.

“I—“

“Shut up and let me enjoy the fact I don’t have to be sympathetic to Jim Valenti,” he says. Michael raises his eyebrows. But he keeps quiet until Walt straightens up, “now tell me what happened.”

“Isobel killed them,” he says, “she blacked out and she killed them. Max and I made it look like a car crash,” he swallows tightly, “I told her I did it so she wouldn’t feel bad.”

“Shit,” Walt says finally.

“Yeah, shit,” Michael echoes.

“There anything else?”

Michael shakes his head. He’s gone back to looking small and miserable and Walt finds himself torn between hugging him and shaking him. It makes a damn lot of sense why he’s been acting the way he has. Like lying, subtly has never been Michael’s forte. He looks exhausted too but Walt can’t tell if that’s the hangover or the fact that the weight he’s been carrying is less.

“Right,” Walt says, “here’s what we’re gonna do—“

“Isobel can’t go to jail,” Michael says abruptly, “I have the most control. I can figure it out.”

“No-one is going to jail!” Walt cuts in, “none of you belong there. What’s wrong with your sister is—a problem for another day,” he says. It’s not like Isobel can go to the doctor or anything, “but you sure as hell ain’t going for her.”

Michael doesn’t like that answer, but Walt’s used to Michael needing to protect the people ehe loves no matter what. He’s too hungover and a murder is the biggest thing happening but Walt’s not stupid enough to think that Alex leaving is just going to be brushed aside. It’s too much happening at once, but they have to start somewhere. He puts the car into gear and figures home is a good place to start. He’s not cruel but there’s no way to get there without passing the damn bus stop. Michael peers out the window just like Alex did.

“Bus came about an hour ago,” he says, “but you knew that.”

“Did you see him?” Michael asks quietly.

“Course I saw him,” Walt says, “I wasn’t going to let him ship off standing there alone,” Michael cringes, “you thought his dad was going to see him off?”

“I didn’t deserve to say goodbye,” Michael mutters.

“Alex’d disagree with that,” Walt says, “not that it matters but he earned that goodbye from you,” Michael gives a slight nod, “instead he had to make due with me. I told him he wasn’t getting near you until he went to college or did something impressive,” he says, “since his dad isn’t going to say it, I’ll say the same thing to you.”

“Say what?”“You aren’t getting within 100 feet of him without going to college,” Walt says.

Michael gives a miserable sort of smile.

“They probably took back my acceptance,” he says, “I got arrested.”

“Then you’re going to reapply,” Walt tells him, “it’ll probably put you and Alex graduating at the same time. If that’s any incentive,” he clears his throat, “in the meantime, you can work in the yard.”

“I already work in the yard,” Michael points out.

“You gonna undo everything I say?” Walt demands.

Michael shakes his head.

Walt feels relief coursing though his veins. He might not drink but he sure as hell is going to need some coffee to get his head back on straight. He’s damn proud of Michael for a lot of things, but mostly he’s relieved it looks like his boy is back. Still Walt’s not about to commend him too much and risk it going away. He claps Michael on the shoulder instead.

“Good,” Walt says, putting the car into park, “I got a car they just brought in that needs some new tires and an apology.”


	6. The Truth and Caulfield

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“He knows you’re an alien,” Walt says. Both whip to look at him, “I’m not standing here watching you two be idiots,” he says._
> 
> _“Could you go inside then?” Michael asks. Walt raises his eyebrows, “please?”_

“Is Michael here?”

Walt turns to look at Alex. It’s almost normal now to see him without his makeup and piercings, though Walt’s not sure he’ll ever get the image of him shipping off and looking out the window for a boy who wasn’t there out of his head. He’d ripped into Michael so badly that the boy had stopped whatever spiral he was on. College hadn’t been his favorite time but at least he could say he got his boy through that. Even if he’d continued to live at home. Walt’s not about to take that from him.

“No,” he says, “can I help you with something?”

Alex stares at him long and hard like he’s trying to read Walt’s mind or find out his secrets. He looks like he’s in shock, not an easy thing for someone whose been through the shit that Alex has been through. Walt sighs.

“Let me guess: you know.”

Alex looks so relieved that Walt knows his guess was right. Michael’s an adult. Hell Liz knows already. So it’s not like this is the first person to find out. But Alex is a Manes who looks uncomfortably like his father when he’s in his uniform. But Walt knows that a part of him still loves his boy. The fact that he’s not here with a team of scientists is proof enough of that.

“Do you—““Of course I know,” Walt says, “he’s my boy,” he drops his tools, “I knew his mom too,” Alex’s brow furrows, “oh you don’t know about that?” He shakes his head, “your family goes way back with his.”

“We do?”

“Yeah,” Walt looks over as Michael pulls into the driveway. He gets out of the car and stops dead when he sees Alex standing there staring at him, “you’d better come over here,” Walt says.

“I thought we were avoiding each other,” he says. Alex’s throat bobs before he straightens up.

They’re both adults, entitled to make their own mistakes. But Walt’s not sure he’s got it in him to watch them act like fools for another second. It’s been ten years of this pining, dancing around each other bullshit. Even now that they’re in the same place, neither seems to be able to get out of each other’s way long enough to do something productive. Even just standing next to each other they’re both struggling to be taller, though they damn well know Alex has an extra inch on Michael.

“Can we stop the dick swinging contest,” Walt says, “you both are ridiculous,” he looks between them, “well?” He prods Alex.

“I know,” Alex says.

“Know what?” Michael jabs. Walt swears he raised a smarter child. Alex looks annoyed, “what do you know?”

“He knows you’re an alien,” Walt says. Both whip to look at him, “I’m not standing here watching you two be idiots,” he says.

“Could you go inside then?” Michael asks. Walt raises his eyebrows, “please?”

He figures he can give them a moment before they need anything filled in. But if they start making out in his yard he’s going to ground them both. How that will work, he doesn’t know, but he figures it’s a start. There’s no making out, there’s just some arguing and a lot of gesturing from Michael. Alex eventually sits down because he’s still getting used to his missing leg. Michael paces like a wild animal. Walt watches and wonders if parents of straight human children have to go through shit like this. When they come inside neither of them is moving slowly or has shut up. What he isn’t expecting is for Alex to stay in the doorway and Michael to go upstairs and return with a bag.

“There’s an alien prison we’re going on a rescue mission,” Michael says.

“Bye Mr. Sanders.”

They’re both gone just like that.

It’s a full day before they pull up and Walt has decided he’s going to murder both of them so it’s a moot point. But he wants an explanation first. Just so he doesn’t have to have any guilt on his conscience when it comes to it. He’s fully ready for the murder too when Kyle ‘no longer an asshole’ Valenti gets out and jogs around to the passenger side. He’s not ready to see Michael helping out an old woman. She’s old and bald and wearing rags, but he’d know her anywhere. When she looks at him, she’s so surprised she nearly faints. But Michael keeps her upright.

“Walt Sanders,” she rasps, “you’ve gotten tall.”

Funny because he doesn’t feel tall.

Especially when she takes his hand.

“Hi Miss Nora,” he says.

“I guess I have two dance partners now.”

Walt looks over his shoulder as Alex gets out of the car. Even though he’s holding his mom’s hand, Michael is already watching him. Miss Nora sees it too. She squeezes his hand to get his attention and Walt looks at her. He has no idea if this is a thing where she comes from, but there’s nothing but soft pride in her eyes when she looks at Alex and Michael. And nothing but sharp humor when she looks at him.

“Well maybe just the one,” she says, “but I think you’ll do.”


	7. The Truth and Breakfast*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Is it better if I call Alex over here or if you drive me to him?” She asks._
> 
> _“Probably bringing him over here,” Walt says._
> 
> _“Tell him I’m too frail to travel,” She advises_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Michael Sanders prompt, if you ever feel inspired: future snippets of Michael and Alex and their relationship after the caulfield rescue. Bonus: Nora and Walt talking about their dumbass genius alien baby and the cosmic love of his life and plotting to get them together. 

“So where’s Alex?”

Michael chokes on his cereal but Walt figures he’s been patient enough. It’s been about a week of letting him and Nora get to know each other. There’s no making up for lost time, not when it’s an entire lifetime. There’s just forward. But Walt knows you don’t go forward alone and he’s also not anxious to repeat history. He sure as hell isn’t going to be the go between for his boy and Alex again, just because Jesse’s a sadist and the two of them are pretty stupid for a couple of geniuses. Nora is curious enough to set down her coffee cup and looks between the two of them before settling on him.

“Alex Manes,” he says. Miss Nora looks stunned and horrified, which Walt can’t blame her for. He looks at Michael who stares at the table with an intensity usually reserved for the subject. Michael looks far younger, far more like the boy he isn’t rather than the man he is. Walt refuses to be phased, “you check in with him at all?”

“I’ve been busy,” Michael mutters.

“Alex just found out that there are aliens in the universe and you’re one of them,” Walt says, “and he dropped everything to help you. Seems that might warrant a phone call.”

“He didn’t just find out,” Michael snaps, suddenly finding his voice, “he just got around to telling me. He and Kyle have known for weeks.”

Walt leans back in his chair and looks at Miss Nora. The shock on her face is giving way to something far more curious. Being imprisoned may have done a number on her, but he recognizes the look in he eyes just as well. Michael has to collect himself and plaster on something almost innocent before he looks at his mother. Walt can’t exactly blame him for wanting to put his best self forward for her, even though he’d like to think that they all are aware that doesn’t matter to Miss Nora.

“So how has this been going on?” She asks.

“Nothing’s going on,” Michael says.

“Since they were teenagers,” Walt corrects, “though things have been rough since Alex came back from his last tour,” he looks at Michael, “you know his father hates you because you’re an alien.”

Michael snorts and then straightens up like he’s made a decision.

“His dad hates me because I’m bisexual,” he says. Miss Nora looks confused, “I like men and women,” Michael elaborates.

Walt wasn’t fully expecting him to say it. He’s been giving them their privacy, he doesn’t know if Michael told her. Looking between the pair of them though, it seems not. Miss Nora doesn’t seem to fully understand why Michael looks so stressed about it. She puts a hand on his wrist which gets a soft smile from Michael.

“Not everyone here thinks that’s okay,” Walt says, “especially Alex’s father.”

“Which part?” Miss Nora asks.

“The boys liking boys part.”

“Why is that any of his business?” She questions. Walt exhales even though he knows it was silly to think Miss Nora would draw a line at that. He shrugs, “I think Walt’s right, he probably dislikes you because of the alien thing.”

“It’s not about him,” Michael says, “Alex wants to get on with his life.”

“Alex is scared,” Walt corrects, “his father used to beat the tar out of him for liking boys,” he ignores the look Michael gives him. He’s lost his patience with the secret keeping, “he was fighting a war, got hurt and just came back recently. He’s feeling vulnerable,” he explains. He meets Michael’s venomous look, “Michael hasn’t been helping.”

“He’s been telling me to go away!” Michael protests.

“He didn’t look like he wanted you to go away in Caulfield,” Miss Nora says.

The outrage on Michael’s face is heartwarming. Walt’s got no stomach for the hallmark style crap that’s been happening, even though he understands the need for it. He’s glad the band aides been ripped off though. He’d glad they’re past that point and onto acting like a family. He’s never been under the illusion that they’re a proper one, but he knows they’re a good one. Or as good as any can be under the circumstances.

“So everyone’s on his side?” Michael demands.

“We don’t want you to get hurt,” Miss Nora starts.

“It’s ten years too late for that,” Michael snaps, “he left. By choice. And he keeps leaving. So I’m not going after him,” he pushes himself up, “I gotta go clear my head.”

Walt sighs after the door is shut and gets them both more coffee. He doesn’t know how Miss Nora is taking the news that Alex is a Manes or that her son has a dramatic love life or that he’s bisexual. It’s a lot for anyone to take in. Or anyone who hasn’t sepent the past decades being imprisoned and tortured. She doesn’t look particularly shell shocked as she looks out the window to see Michael going off to clear his head.

“Is it better if I call Alex over here or if you drive me to him?” She asks.

“Probably bringing him over here,” Walt says.

“Tell him I’m too frail to travel,” She advises, “does Michael need to cool off or should I follow him?”

Walt wants to tell her he’s her son. And he is. But Miss Nora looks at him steadily and patiently and he seems to belatedly realize that she’s waiting for him to tell her. After all he raised him.

“Give him a minute,” he advises, “I’ll go find my damn phone.”

The things is rarely charged since Michael graduated but he’s always kept it around in case Alex needs to get to him. There’s been a few times over the years he’s been damn glad he didn’t turn it off too. Like last week. But that hasn’t meant he’s kept it charged. Once it’s up he finds the last number from Alex. He’s not surprised when Alex picks up on the first ring.

“Don’t get too excited it’s me,” Walt says.

“Hi Mr. Sanders,” Alex says, “how are you?”  
“Alive,” Walt says, “but I’ve known for years, how are you?”

“Alive,” Alex says and doesn’t elaborate. Still a punk.

“Well Miss Nora would like to thank you if you’re feeling up to it,” he says, “she’s not fit to travel,” he glances out the window to see Michael gesturing wildly and Miss Nora standing with her hip cocked and her arms crossed. Dramatics seem to be genetic, “so I told her I’d ask if you could come over, make an old woman happy and all that.”

He hears Alex hesitate and doesn’t blame him, but Alex was also raised to do the polite thing when it came to his elders. Not that he always does that. But Miss Nora’s not some homophobic monster. And he’s seen Alex do more to make his family name worth something than most of them.

“I don’t think Michael and I should see each other right now,” he says.

“Well lucky for you he’s out clearing his head,” Walt replies, because a half truth is better than a blatant lie, “and Miss Nora’s not really up for much talking. She just wants to thank you.”

He can see the wheels turning in Alex’s head before he finally exhales.

“I can come over in ten minutes,” he says.

“Sounds good,” Walt tells him, “see you then.”

He tries to shove away the guilt, then he tells himself he’ll figure out a way to make it up to him. Alex is a good man, far as he can tell. He’s good for Michael and Michael is good for him. Usually. He also knows that when they’re hurt neither of them is good for the other. Thinking about Alex makes his scars ache. Healing Michael’s hand was a process. But they could explain that. You can’t explain a missing limb or organ in the same way. Not that Alex ever knew that was an option. But Jesse did. The whole thing is such a clusterfuck, he’s more willing to open the door and deal with that mess.

“—he’s the one being ridiculous. I’m not throwing myself at him again like some lovesick puppy.”

“That wasn’t my question,” Miss Nora says.  
“I don’t want to talk about him!”

“Great,” Walt cuts in, realizing adding this much guilt to his tab before breakfast can’t possibly be good, “because I think we’d better finish eating,” Michael throws his hands up and rolls his eyes, “you want me to cut up your pancakes and make train noises while I’m at it?” He asks as Michael stomps in. Miss Nora looks at him, “it’s how we feed children.”

“I’m not a—“ Michael cuts himself off with a swear, knowing damn well that what he’s saying makes him sound like exactly that, “I’m done talking about this with you two.”

“That’s fine,” Walt says as they all wind up back at the kitchen table.  
Michael’s eyes narrow and Walt just thanks his lucky stars for Alex’s good timing as the doorbell rings. Before any of them can say anything, Nora motions the door open. Walt realizes he’s going to have to reinstitute the rules about when and where telekinesis can be used. On the other side of the door, Alex looks stunned, his eyes darting around. Walt’s not sure if it’s the telekinesis, Nora not looking on death’s door or Michael’s presence. Though when his eyes settle on Michael, Walt’s got his answer.

“You’d better come in,” he says.

Alex doesn’t move.

Michael doesn’t react to all the eyes being on him, but then again there is one pair he cares more about. His jaw tightens and clenches before he pushes himself away from the table and walks out the front door, dragging it closed behind him. Miss Nora watches it curiously. Walt doesn’t know if she can listen or not, besides he figures he’s got bigger things to worry about considering Michael’s got no reason to hide his powers. At least that’s one less thing standing in the way of whatever’s going on with them.

“He looks like Tripp,” Miss Nora says.

“The resemblance doesn’t stop there,” Walt says, “he’s a good man,” he looks at her, “seems like you know that.”

“He was going to drag Michael out of there,” she says, “I think Michael was going to leave with him either way.”

Walt ignores the shiver. Michael’s lived with the threat of winding up in a place like that his whole life. Walt’s always known the day may come when he’d have to get him out. One way or another. He just hadn’t counted on someone who wasn’t Max or Isobel also being there. He’s not the nosy type, no more than he has to be to keep Michael safe. Not that Michael needs him to anymore, but old habits die hard. Besides he’s never fully soundproofed anything so they could hear if they were being snuck up on. It’s not like it takes much to eavesdrop.

“—I could stand here and tell you that I didn’t want to leave, but I did.”

Miss Nora comes over wth just as much interest in the conversation. Walt wonders what his life has become and if Alex knows what he’s signing up for with all of this. If he knows he’s going to spend his life surrounded by dramatic, eavesdropping aliens.

“I didn’t help,” Michael mutters.

“You were in pain, I just didn’t know what to do. I handled it completely wrong, especially because it was my fault in the first place.”

Walt swears under his breath. He has no idea if Michael’s going to tell Alex what went on or how not his fault his pain was. He’s not a betting man, but even he doesn’t know if Michael’s instinct to protect Alex outweighs his instinct to protect his siblings.

“It wasn’t you.”

“You don’t have to try and make me feel better—“

“No, I’m serious,” Michael cuts in, “Isobel was in trouble. I had to help her. I had to make her think I did something bad.”

“But—“ Alex’s brow draws together.

“It was alien stuff okay?” Michael says, somehow guilty, defensive and heartbroken all at once, “you couldn’t know.”

To his credit, Alex straightens up slightly and gives Michael a hard look. Walt’s impressed, he doesn’t know if he’d do the same if he was in Alex’s shoes. Michael looks away. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Miss Nora frown.

“Right,” Alex says carefully, “of course not.”

“What? You think I didn’t want to tell you?” Michael questions.

“I don’t know—“

“Of course I wanted to tell you!” Michael says, “but we never told anyone,” Alex raises his eyebrows, “Max told Liz recently. I wasn’t expecting you to go on some kind of alien discovery treasure hunt, Alex.”

Alex scoffs and Walt is oddly proud of him for not taking Michael’s crap. He doesn’t think anyone needs his approval but if Michael ever got that backwards notion in his head, Alex would get it. Probably. Guilt’s a hell of an enabler. Which is probably why Walt steps away from the eavesdropping to put on another pot of coffee.

He figures breakfast is probably the least he can do.


End file.
